


there is something i see in you (it might kill me, i want it to be true)

by anonymous_mystery95



Category: The Flash (TV 2014), The Flash - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, There will be death, There will be some blood, There will be some smut, bonnie and clyde au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-30
Updated: 2016-02-10
Packaged: 2018-05-17 05:07:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5855329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anonymous_mystery95/pseuds/anonymous_mystery95
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He saves her from a life of madness and monotony, he condemns her to one of crime and darkness. He is a thief, a murderer, a monster.</p>
<p>She quickly becomes the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. part one.

Barry Allen didn't believe in anything.

Not love, not fate, not nothing.

His father was arrested for murder, his mother the victim. He had believed in justice, a poor naive boy of nine years, sure that in time the truth would be revealed and his dad released.

However, as each year stretched out, his father slowly rotting away inside that hellhole, the boy trapped and alone in a world he never deserved, he realised that time would not be bringing him hope.

Time had only made the heart more jaded.

* * *

It was when he accepted this at the ripe old age of twenty five did his life truly begin. 

One of crime.

* * *

Caitlin Snow was trapped inside a world where she did not belong, an inquisitive mind, a thirst for more, and yet no way to get it.  A girl in a small town, no way to escape, no options in life, forced to continue on in the endless chain of waitress' and minimum pay. 

All she needed was a push in the right direction, her desperation for more enough to drive her insane.

And she got that push.

* * *

It was in the wrong direction.

* * *

Barry strolls into town and Caitlin's life with little fanfare, his hands shoved in his pockets, an easy smile at his waitress as she seats him for his meal. He pays her compliments and not cash, ducking out before she could hand him the bill, her eyebrows furrow in annoyance as it dawns on her.

But with a quick glance at the clock she realises she doesn't have time to be mad, her shift just ending. Pulling off her apron, she yells at her colleagues, clocking off before leaving the building. She runs across the road, her mother's car parked on the other side of the street. She slows down as she nears it, strange noises coming from the other side, and she breathes deeply, her heart in her throat as she goes to see what the ruckus was.

She pauses as she sees the young man who nicked off without paying for his meal beside her car, instruments out, a file sliding into the keyhole of the automobile.

"Excuse me?"

He jumps up as her voice disrupts him from his thoughts, a sheepish expression in his face as he sees he has just been caught in the act. She fears for her life briefly, this man - a stranger - alone with her, a person unafraid of committing crimes. But it wanes as the seconds flicker by. His gaze travels across her body slowly, the lascivious grin on his face indicative of just what he was thinking.

"Pig." She is punching him in the arm before she realises she moved, scowling at his expression, pissed off and tired and simply not in the mood for his crap.

He stiffens immediately, a flicker of something dark and dangerous and alluring in his eyes at her action.

She sees it.

And she likes it.

Her breath catches and heart rate quickens, fists forming as he takes a step closer to her. The atmosphere thickens, almost suffocating her as he moves into her personal space, his lean frame towering over her, gaze focussed on her and her alone, everything else fading away. But then it cracks, a lazy smile spreading across his face, a lightness in his eyes that had dimmed before now returning. He takes a step back and she finds her breath again, chest heaving as she tries to calm herself down, a mixture of emotions swirling through her, fear gripping her heart, lust coursing through her veins. The stranger watches her, always watching; he could see her pulse fluttering on the side of her neck, could see her trembling hands, could see the way she stood her ground as he approached her.

Could see how her eyes darkened as he slipped away from his facade of light, the dark drawing her in.

He sees it.

And he likes it.

"So, you wanna come with me toots." She rolls her eyes at the name, its awkwardness on his tongue annoying her more than his obvious attempt to rile her up.

"I don't think you’re in a position to make the offer." She knows she is coming across as stiff, determined to establish some form of mutual respect and authority, but he winks at her, nonchalant and she hates him almost as much as she is intrigued by him.

"You may have the keys," he concedes, "but I'm the one with a criminal history and tools only a few seconds away, so I think I am in a position to make the offer." She hums a laugh in response, a fearlessness he hadn't seen in her before glowing around her, and she looks beautiful.

"You're not going to do a thing to me and you know it." And her confidence in the statement, in how correct she is (and she is correct, he grumbles to himself), it sings to him. This beautiful angel is attracted to his darkness, and for him to have her consume it, to be corrupted by it, to thirst for it, to become it, well the idea is intoxicating, taking root in his mind, growing until it covers every inch and crevice, all he can think about, all he desires.

He drops his head, an attempt to hide his smile, but it fails, a soft melodical laugh carried in the wind, one of victory and success. He peeks at her through his lashes, a different woman to the one he saw in the diner not a half hour before. There is a glint in her eye that he never saw before, the dull monotony of her day- of her life- dampening it, but here, now, it was shining bright and like a moth drawn to the flame he was attracted to it, unafraid of getting burnt. Her shoulders are back, a strong, confident woman before him, one excited by life and not bored to death by it, a fervor that he feels rolling off of her, creeping up on him, sliding its way through his defenses.

But it’s her smile that causes him to raise his head- large, bright and _eager_. Eager for this, for _him._

"Barry," he extends his hand, a sure smirk on his face. She takes it, meeting his eyes, her eyebrow raised in challenge.

"Caitlin." And she brushes past him, sliding her keys into the car and hopping into the driver's seat. She looks out the window, smiling at his expression. "So are you coming or what?"

He huffs out a laugh in response, opening the door and settling into the passenger's seat, fiddling with the radio as he looks for a station he would enjoy.

And so Barry and Caitlin drive off into the sunset, their lives irrevocably changed because of this one single defining moment. But they wouldn't know it, not until years later, but for now they laughed, they smiled, the wind blowing in their hair, wisps of Caitlin's locks tickling Barry's face.

They seem so innocent, so alive, the rest of their lives before them.

It is.

It's not very long.

* * *

They drive through towns until they can barely stand the sight of them, petty crimes enough to help make ends meet, from unpaid meals, to stolen clothes and petrol. They sleep under the stars, one driving or the other until they are both so exhausted they pull over and collapse in the back seat of the car, bodies curling up into the other's, seeking heat in the chilly night.

Caitlin always awakens first, her neck in pain as cramps from the uncomfortable position start to settle. She groans to herself, promising that the next night they will stay in a hostel or motel, just anything with a bed.

She enjoys early mornings, had ever since her childhood, the first rays of dawn in the sky, the hues of purple and pink, orange and yellow, in the sky. She loved it because it had given her hope, a world so beautiful only for her, everyone else clueless to the priceless beauty they were graced with each morning. She felt as though it was hers and hers alone. it gave her hope for escape, because if there could possibly be this wonder each morning, surely she would have her own small miracle, her own way to leave the world she was forced to endure.

She loves it now because it was the only time she had to herself, her thoughts wandering to the man beside her. The urge to run her fingers through his hair almost overwhelms her, impulse control sluggish and not so strong in the early morning. She smiles softly to herself, the look of peace on his expression causing something to flutter inside. Caitlin had memorised every freckle scattered across his face, every mole and scar, each day pulling her further and further into his life. But she knows there was so much she barely understood.

She could see he was getting antsy, something weighing on his mind, each smile her way forced. He looks over his shoulder whenever they are in a town, phone calls in the middle of the night, spine stiffening every time a siren would pass them on the open road.

"Are you going to keep on staring at me?" It startles her, his breathing is so calm, his eyes still closed- he could have been awake for seconds or minutes and she would have never been the wiser. Barry’s voice is rough with sleep, shivers sent down her spine as she hears its husky tone.

"Are you going to keep hiding things from me?" It's out before she could stop the words; she curses her poor impulse control yet again, his eyelids flinging open at her words, panic creeping into his expression, her heart sinking as she sees it.

"Not now." He's pulling away from her, her body cold as he is no longer holding her, instead opening the door and tumbling out of the vehicle. And she can't stand it anymore.

And so she follows him out.

"Then when Barry? Because you've been hiding whatever this is ever since we met!" She is working herself up, this explosion so different from her norm; her chest is heaving as she forces herself to breath slowly, hands that were waving wildly around now dropping limply to her side. This lack of information, of trust, is eating away at her, gnawing at her soul and she knows that if she doesn’t say anything now she may never do it at all. And she’s seen where that leads people, people like her mother, a husk filled with the bitter poison of anger and resentment, unable to leave because of the strings woven between them, tying them together, tying her to him. And while Caitlin may have been the string tying that failing marriage, in her relationship with Barry there isn’t a child, only the promise of something more in her life, hope that she wouldn’t accept from anyone else.

She stumbles out of the car herself, searching for the man that had left her alone, breath stolen from her lungs as she sees him a few metres before her. He is like a wild beast, pacing slowly around, body vibrating with something uncontrollable, something _primal_. There is a beauty in his madness, and she takes a moment to take it in, captivated by the raw power he exudes, something dangerous and seductive, calling out to the darkest part in her. She feels it crawling out from inside her, drawn to the man on the brink, lust curling up inside her as she continues to stare. She can feel the air around him thickens and she knows the smallest thing would set him off.

But she doesn't care.

She craves it.

She knows Barry is trying to control himself, to restrain whatever it is inside him from erupting, but she doesn’t want that, she doesn’t want this man who has been second guessing his every move around her, who has been thinking everything through so carefully, she wants the man in front of her, raw and honest and _angry_. And so Caitlin pushes the buttons he won’t, stalking up to him, her face in his, taunting him.

“Well? Cat got your tongue?”

He is still holding back, a storm in those emerald pools, but all it takes is for a single touch, her index finger pressing hard against the planes of his chest, poking him.

Caitlin can see the moment his resistance snaps, the monster inside of him unleashed, his eyes almost black with anger. He leans in closer, his hot breath against her face, the dust of freckles across the bridge of his nose clear, his chest heaving. And he blocks out the world, he is all that she can see, all she can hear, all she can focus on.

"Do you want to know the truth Caitlin, _do you?!_ " He is shaking, with rage and aggression, mere millimetres between their bodies.

"Yes!" There are hints of exasperation in her voice, the girl not backing down. But more than that there is desire, a fire inside burning, consuming her.

"Do you want to know how I rob people of everything they've earnt, how I kill anyone who ends up in my way." He hears her gasp of surprise, and he can't stop the demented smile curling his lips, a cruel glint in his eye, as he leans closer to her, lips brushing against her ear. "Oh yes, murdered them with my bare hands, their blood in my nails, on my face. I kill, I steal, I take what I want. And you should see the look on their face," he drifts off momentarily, eyes closing as he relives the moments. "The fear on their faces, the way they plead for their lives like the worthless people they are. They are bastards for almost all of their existence, but when you hold their life in their hands, oh how their song changes. I've seen it Caitlin." He doesn't realise he has moved, his hands gliding across the expanse of her neck, cupping the back of her skull, fingers entwined in her hair. "I've seen the panic in their gaze, I've seen the life leave them as they bleed to death. I crave it, i hunger for it." His hands tighten in her hair, pain shooting down the crown of her head as he pulls. But there is also a warmth inside her, a yearning to match his own, arousal simmering under her skin, the pain an unexpected turn on, this power, this darkness, delicious, intoxicating.

"Barry." It was so soft, but it was enough to snap him out of his delirium. He releases her, hands burning as he realises just what he was doing, eyelids still closed, too ashamed to see the disgust and hatred on her face.

"Do you like that? Are you happy you know now?" His voice is cold like ice, burning her, its chill seeping into her bones, washing over her, and she loves it.

Seconds tick by, and he realises that she hasn't said a word, hasn't moved an inch. His eyes slowly open, her face an open canvas to him, her every emotion displayed. 

"You - you do like that, don't you?"

" _Gosh yes_ ," and it is a hoarse whisper, tendrils of lust infused on her tone, and if Barry would try (and he does) he could envision her on a bed, naked and sweaty, those very words and that very tone, leaving her mouth, right before he would have her screaming. Not for the first time he wonders what she would do if he were to grab her, to push her against the side of the car, to pull her underwear to the side and slide into her, in view of whoever would drive past. His breathing becomes heavier, and he has to concentrate, to focus on anything _but_  that.

"I'm going a job soon; Bank of Portland." His voice is strained, his control slipping with their proximity and he prays to every deity that she assumes it is because of the seriousness of the conversation. "This is your last chance to back out. Alive."

She blinks. 

He threatened her, indirectly, but she hears it all the same.

"Are you going to teach me how to hold a gun or do you think I know how to use it already?"

He smiles.

She smiles.

They seal their fate.

* * *

The first job is easy, Caitlin as cold as ice, gun to the teller's back as she demands the cash and gold. The man follows her orders without fail, never once realising that she had never shot a gun in her life, never held one until three days prior.

* * *

They head to a bar to celebrate.

* * *

"That was amazing!" Barry smirks at her reaction, cool and collected he is a stark contrast to the woman by his side, eyes bright, cheeks flushed. She is almost bouncing in her seat, vibrating energy; the adrenaline rush of her first robbery a glorious sight to behold.

"It was alright." She turns to him, shocked.

"It was more than alright Barry." Her excitement is coming through her pores, exuding from her body. And in this pub, smoke making everything hazy but her, Barry feels something he may have described as content. She takes another shot, the liquid burning its way down her throat, a small shudder down her spine as it burns her, her eyes closed in bliss. He passes on his drink, sliding it to her instead, a look of adoration on his face as she accepts it with a smile, downing it in an instant. She jumps up, an amused Barry wondering what she could be doing, hesitancy holding him in place as she tries to drag him from his stool by the bar and to the floor metres away.

"No way." She pouts at him; she looks so innocent with her wide, pleading eyes, bottom lip trembling as she interlocks their fingers, tugging him more forcefully, urging him to join her. He glances around, it's a seedy bar, drunks and criminals and drunk criminals all together, a few eyes drawn to the new lady and her partner. 

"Barry, come dance with me."

"I don't dance." They both hear the lack of conviction in his tone, and if Caitlin wasn't graced with the sight of his smile she knows that hearing it is just as beautiful.

" _Please_ Barry, for me." And she knows she won, resignation on his face, and she lets go of his sweater, jumping up and down, eager for more of the high she was having, to have more of it with him beside her.

But it all crashes and burns within seconds, a man twice his size and weight and 100% muscle approaching, his beady eyes raking over Caitlin's form, a lecherous smile creeping onto his face, those little black dots gleaming as he enjoys what he sees.

"Hey cutie, wanna show me what's got you so excited?" His voice is low, gruff, and Barry can see her back stiffen. She lets go of his hands and turns to the newcomer, her face now hidden from Barry, and he can't help the swooping of his stomach. The other man was attractive and he was interested and he didn't know Caitlin would respond in a situation like this. And he hates it.

"Sorry, but me and my friend are celebrating together." He sees the stranger light up at the word friend, the single word filling him with confidence.

"Come on darlin', I can give you a much more fun time." Barry's hands tighten around his glass, anger and possessiveness scratching at him, cutting him up inside, the monster he knows he is rising to the surface. It's a feral thing, violent and bloodthirsty and all Barry can think about in that moment is the man's limp body in his arms, of him suffocating on his blood, drowning in it. He barely notices the cup shatter in his hands, cutting his skin.

Caitlin refuses the other man again and Barry feels the animal inside calm, appeased with her action. But then he grabs her hands, his thick fingers wrapping around her wrists, a yelp of surprise leaving Caitlin as she is tugged into the man's chest.

And the monster is unleashed.

"Hey," the stranger turns to Barry, bracing himself for a punch or something equally pathetic.

He doesn't see the glass shard in the young man's hand.

He isn't fast enough to react, Barry swinging his right hand, cutting his throat open.

The man stumbles to his knees, hands leaving Caitlin to grasp at his neck, the thick red liquid pouring from the gaping wound, staining his fingers, oozing through the cracks in his hold, dripping to the floor. He tries to speak to them, to call for help, words unable to be formed, a red hand reaching to them. They can pinpoint the very moment he realises that they won't do anything, panic flaring before resignation settles. They stand before him unmoving, watching the life drain from his body, garbled noises escaping the man before he starts coughing blood, choking on it.

They stand unmoving, watching him die.

There is some murmuring in the background, the conflict one that had played out many times in the bar. Everyone knew to keep to themselves, to not become involved in messes such as this, but this was different and a man was now dead. The discourse in the bar was growing, the quiet whispers growing, gathering a force behind it, people that were discreetly watching the scene play before them now staring, glaring.

They need to leave. Now.

Grabbing Caitlin's hand Barry rushes out, his heart in his throat as they run, leaving everything behind but each other. They run for what seems like ages, the threat of an angry mob chasing them down very real, any moment one where police sirens could come from behind them, holding them accountable for the atrocities they had committed.

But none of it happen; they make it to the motel they were renting, both of them doubling over in the corridor, laboured pants echoing in the empty area. Barry unlocks his door, stumbling as Caitlin pushes him aside, running for the kitchen and the sink. He locks the door before following her there, watching as she gulps down the water without pausing for breath, a small drop of the liquid trickling down the side of her mouth. She slams the cup onto the bench, her gaze drawn to his fame at the entrance. He sees a fire in her eyes, one he had only hints of before. She stalks to him, Barry still as she approaches, invading his personal space, her hands reaching out, resting on his torso.

"Caitlin..." It is a warning tone, the young man confused and aroused and unsure of what her intentions were. But she ignores him, raking her nails over his clothed chest, the flimsy fabric doing nothing to hide the coolness of her hands. She fists the fabric, tugging him down to her, capturing his lips with her own, mouth moving desperately against his, tongue licking at the seams, sweeping in when he opens up underneath her demands.

"That was hot." She moans it against his lips and Barry doesn't know what to do, what to say, her lips on his, moving aggressively, drawing him closer, intoxicating him with every moment. They stumble into his bedroom, on his bed, hands clawing at the other's clothes, tearing it in their impatience, in their desperation to feel the other against them.

They don't give themselves time to think, to second guess their decisions,driven by their primal instincts of lust and desire and a need that could only be quenched by the other person. They can't stop feeling the other, each small sliver of skin revealed to the other person worshipped and memorised. A hiss escapes Barry when they are finally naked and touching, Caitlin pushing his back against the mattress, straddling him, smiling from on high. She grinds herself against him slowly and deliberately, head flung back as she closes her eyes in bliss. He feels how hot she is, how wet, and he swears in frustration. Because all he wants to do is be inside her, to pin her down against the mattress, to slip into her folds, to have her on the brink, to tease and tease until she can barely stand it, until she can barely speak, a jumble of incoherent ramblings and words leaving her mouth. He needs her ardently.

And then they are one, a scream reverberating in the room as they both struggle to contain themselves. But then they start moving, faster and faster, chasing the climax that is just before them. The world fades away in their moment, the only sounds that of their grunts and moans, of skin slapping against the other as they moved, the scent of sex and arousal filling the air, both of them heady, both of them crazy for more.

It hits them like a flood, swift and unexpected, Caitlin's chest arching body stilling as she falls, Barry moments behind her.

She collapses against him, a muffled groan as he slips out of her, his arms around her naked body, tugging her against him, both of them falling into a peaceful slumber.

* * *

Barry awakens first.

It is odd, he notes, reluctant to join the world again, having a warm weight on his chest, waking up with a sleeping woman by his side. He is used to waking up alone in a motel, Caitlin never sharing a space unless they were short on money or in the car.

And even in these rare instances she would be the first, the intensity she didn't know she possessed directed at him, awakening him. But this, here and now, he could get used to this arrangement quite easily. His gaze flickers across her face, so calm and peaceful, a smile even while asleep. he drags his eyes across everything he could feast his gaze upon, pride swelling up inside as he notices a hickey on the slope of her neck, bright and purple and _his_. He did that, he marked her as his own.

She shuffles closer to him, a happy sigh leaving her as she buries her face into his chest, hiding from the sunlight pouring through the open curtains. He laughs at her actions, the vibrations of his chest having her groan, her head tilting up towards his, a pout on her lips as she slowly awakens.

"Hey." He hesitates, wanting to lean down as kiss her senseless, but unsure if he could, unsure of her reaction, unsure where they stand now. It could have been a terrible mistake for her, one never to be repeated, to hang over their heads or they could no longer partners in crime, but simply partners. They could attempt to maintain a platonic relationship, the sex being an added bonus, but he found himself not wanting that with her.

He sneaks in a light peck on her lips, her body barely reacting to its featherlight touch.

"Hey," she giggles to herself, a childish happiness on her face. And he finds his heart beating faster at the sight of it.

"We gonna talk about it?" There is hints of vulnerability in his tone and he prays she doesn't hear it. She doesn't. She doesn't hear his statement at all.

"I'm hungry." She mutters it to herself, sitting up and stretching her arms out, the blanket falling from her torso to her lap, a sight Barry can't help but admire. "I'll go make us something, I don't think it would be a good idea to go out this morning." She slips out of the bed, her nude form in daylight absolutely stunning, every curve, every inch of creamy skin he could only enjoy in the waning moonlight now perfectly clear. Barry feels his body reacting to it, desire in his veins, calling out to her, needing her to come back, to join him in bed, to join _with_  him in bed. But he doesn't say a word. She leaves him there speechless, her head popping through the doors frame for a second. "Don't think it'd be wise having you cook either."

And with a wink she leaves him alone.

He sighs to himself, pulling himself out of bed, scanning the room for something he could slip into before joining her in the kitchen. They never discussed what had happened, and he knew they never would, the moment gone forever.

And he would just have to live with it.

* * *

They develop a pattern of crime and sex, the first always followed by the second, the second only ever happening after the first.

It is a complicated relationship.

They live with it.

* * *

The first time it doesn't happen is when Barry is shot in the shoulder; the robbery successful, their escape only just falling under the same category.

They don't go to the hospital, they can't. Not with the police alerting every hospital in the vicinity to watch for them. They go to a small motel on the outskirts of town, a place cloaked in darkness, where the stench of blood and murder couldn't be washed from the sheets or the walls. Barry hisses as they enter the room, Caitlin gently pushing him on the bed, a bag of supplies by the entrance of the door. And she ensures his okay, that he's comfortable before taking a few steps into the kitchen, the amenities provided by the motel lacking.

She flicks on the stove, the fire burning before her, the flames of orange and blue dancing before her, its beauty, its danger so captivating to the woman. But Caitlin cannot be distracted in the slightest, pulling out the needle and tweezers, placing them above the open flame, heating them until they started to glow red.

"I'm sterilising the equipment okay, so your wounds don't get infected." Her voice is carried across from one room to the other. She speaks with a calm voice, soothing, lulling him into a sense of security. He misses it when she stops talking, the room too empty, too white, ghosts of its past haunting Barry.

But then she enters with the equipment and a match and they disappear.

"Hey," she smiles at him, placing it down on the bedside table, and he swears he can see guilt in her eyes. He opens his mouth to speak, but before words come out he sees the reason, a needle in her hands, one now pressed against his skin, injecting the liquid into his system. Morphine. He knows what it is, he acquired it after much persuasion and arguments, the words muttered through gritted teeth.

He was afraid of needles.

She laughed, dropping off quickly when she realised he was utterly serious about it. He hated the look on her face, pity. But she had promised to tell him before she would do it, to get his approval before ever pushing it against his skin.

She lied.

It is strong, the drug coursing its way through his veins; the pain in his shoulder dulls, the drug making him sleepy, but he doesn't succumb just yet. He watches silent as she lights the match, reheating the tweezers, still red from seconds before.

She works with speedy efficiency, words of apology on her lips as she grabs his shoulder, the scalding instrument pressed into his arm. Nothing can cover the scream of pain that erupts from within him, the drug not enough to numb the agony he was enduring. She finds the bullet still in his arm, pulling it out almost immediately, her face a blank canvas, no emotion showing as she reaches for the needle, sewing the wound in his arm shut. She sits on the side of his bed, hands in her lap, fingers fiddling with each other as she scans his expression, looking for any tell tale signs. She sees nothing. It is only then her emotions leak onto her face, worry and relief warring across her expression. And he doesn't like it. He reaches over, his arm like lead, but he fights it, fights everything, the effort worth it as he sees a smile light her face as his hand finally reach her own, pulling them apart and linking it with his own instead.

"You're good with that." It's a whisper, strength draining from his body with each second, the darkness he feels home in calling him back. He is on the cusp of unconsciousness when he hears her speak, body pushing away the draw of sleep to hear her words.

"I had practice with Ronnie," her smile flickers, her gaze unfocussed as she is transported to a world far from here, to a year even further. "He never knew how to walk away from a fight." Her voice seems distant, but Barry doesn't dwell on that, his sight blurring, black creeping along the edges before consuming him entirely.

* * *

"Who's Ronnie?" he asks when he awakens hours later, Caitlin fussing over him before concluding he would be okay. Her back to him, leaving the room to go to her own.

She stiffens at his question.

And she continues to walk away.

* * *

He doesn't mention it again.

* * *

Caitlin adjusts easily to their criminal lifestyle, the thrill of a successful heist never waning with time.

But she has yet to kill anyone on the job, most people compliant with their lives at stake, not willing to risk the consequences of their failed heroics. And they would fail, each person who meets her dead eyes can feel an icy chill run down their spine, devastation and misery washing over them before she can even speak a word.

But the truth remains: she has never taken the life of a single person.

And she's not sure how to feel about it. About all of it.

She keeps her issues to herself, eyes flicking over to Barry's form guiltily as she contemplates what would happen if she were ever put in a predicament. Caitlin would torture herself with different scenarios running through her head, of her killing, of her failing. Of them dying, of her dying. Of Barry dying. All these faces, all this blood, her imagination painted red with blood she had yet to shed, with blood she was never sure she could. She could feel the darkness creeping in, consuming her whole, and she had never tried hard to resist it. But murder in cold blood would be the final straw and she knows it, knows that if she were to ever take that final step, the last of her humanity would go, she would relinquish any chance she had of returning.

And so Caitlin hung tightly to this final shred of light inside her, the only small comfort she had in the dark world, her only form of resistance against its seduction of her soul.

She's not sure what she would do.

She prays that she'll never need to find out.

* * *

It's another drop, the drugs Barry picked up from Florida moving further west, the risk high but the reward higher. Caitlin isn't supposed to be there, she isn't supposed to ever know.

Because armed assault is one thing, drug trafficking another issue entirely. And Barry has always been fond of plausible deniability. But he is more fond  of protecting her. So he keeps her in the dark.

But she is suspicious of the secret calls, of him slipping out late at night without her by his side, a flimsy excuse passing through his lips.

And so she follows him.

Barry seems agitated and nervous, constantly looking over his shoulder, and she feels hurt welling up from inside her, dozens of different potential scenarios running through her mind. She sees him slink into a dark alleyway, the sun setting behind them, the lilac hues of the evening sky quickly turning black in the cold winter.

Caitlin watches from around a corner, watches him enter an alleyway, watches another man follow him in. She holds her breath, fearful of discovery, neck craning to see what it is he's hiding.

It is then she notices the drugs.

The package is in new man's hands, the man opening it up, examining the white powder, a stoic look on Barry's face. She can only just catch the wisps of the conversation carried in the wind.

"Okay, you know it's the real deal, now pay up." Barry's voice is sharp, and she would shiver if she wasn't so annoyed with him.

The other man grunts, sliding his bag off his back, the item hitting the floor with a loud, but dull thud.

"More." She can hear the edge in his tone, the insanity brought out in his drug-addled brain. And she knows that Barry has taken more than he could handle. Her anger washes away, fear gripping her heart. This man had become to mean something special to her, and she couldn't lose him, she wouldn't.

"No," Barry scoffs, his overconfidence leading to his downfall, Caitlin's heart in her throat as she continues to listen. "This was the amount we agreed on. You give me the money and take it." She can hear the sneer in his voice,can imagine the scene, Barry leaning on his right foot, fingers thrumming his left thigh, over the butt of the gun he keeps hidden there. And she can almost see the other man, agitated and annoyed, too close for her to feel comfortable, enough strength in his grip to snap a neck. To snap Barry's.

"You don't seem to understand." And his low baritone seems so much more menacing in the dark. "I need more. _Now_."

It falls into place with Barry when he hears the aggression, the unreasonableness of the man high on narcotics. He watches as the other approaches him slowly, a wild glint in his eye.

The man is large, and he is crazy.

And for the first time in years Barry feels legitimately afraid of dying.

He reaches for his gun, preparing to shoot him down, when he charges. Barry shoots, but it doesn't slow him down, a nick on the arm only further fuelling his violent frenzy. The drug addled man is too close for another shot, seconds away from reaching the young man.

And Barry stares at him, defiant even until his last moment, watching as the large man goes for his final blow.

Only to have blood splatter across Barry’s face and torso, his attacker stuttering in his movements before collapsing to the ground, the silhouette of his saviour now revealed. And he watches in awe as Caitlin walks up to him, her hands helping him up, fingers lifting up his shirt without hesitation, checking for injuries and bruises. But the moment she touches his bare skin she finds herself being pressed against the alley wall, surprise colouring her features as she looks at him, lust in his eyes, a crazed look she never had seen before. And it turns her on.

"Barry." He doesn't give her a warning, pushing her hard against the wall, his fingers slipping down her body. She doesn't utter a word of protest, she can't. His moves with precision and determination, fingers unbuttoning her shorts, pulling it down roughly as he slides them into her, eyes burning as her face contorts with pleasure. She can't hold in the scream that erupts from her lungs as he enters her, her head flinging back, the pain at the back of her head as she knocks it against the wall nothing compared to the feeling he was invoking, his fingers pumping inside her, teasing her clit. He moves at a brutal pace, in and out, bringing her to the cusp of something glorious before pulling out, the emptiness leaving her keening. But he is stripping his pants down, not giving her a moment, his arms on the back of her thighs, lifting them around his waist as he pushes his member inside her, a groan leaving through gritted teeth as he feels her wet and hot and pulsing around him. And then he starts to move. She watches him, the crazed glint in his eyes, the blood splashed on his face, she takes it all in, mouth open as he continues to move in her. And she doesn't stop watching him until she can physically last no longer, the sensations too overwhelming, her eyes fluttering shut as the pleasure ripples down her body. Her senses are heightened, every touch from him on her enough to brand her, torture her with an insatiable need for more. She can feel the coarse texture of the bricks behind her, the warmth of his skin, the hardness of him in her, the grunts that were against her skin, the vibrations travelling through her body and shaking her up, and she loves it, she craves more. His unrelenting pace pushes her over the edge, her body flying, mind soaring as she climaxes, a torrent of feelings washing her away, satisfaction cascading through her, every nerve buzzing with pleasure.

And he continues, even with her screams, begging him to stop, that she is too sensitive, that she couldn't take anymore. He continues to pound into her, Caitlin coming again and again, her lips seeking his own to muffle the screams, the taste of blood and sweat making its way into her mouth and on her tongue.

They continue, the dying man only metres away.

* * *

They stop eventually, Caitlin's head dropping down to his shoulder, fringe plastered to her skin, sweat soaking her hair.

"You're amazing, you know that?" It's a whisper of awe and amazement, and she chuckles, short and bright, her breath still lost as she tries to recover from her exertion.

"Tell me something I don't know." Her legs slips from around his waist, the woman struggling to hold herself on them, Barry pulling her into him, pulling her shorts up, fingers deftly pulling the zipper up and buttoning it before doing his own. She leans on his frame, her body exhausted, and she listens to his breathing, enjoys the feeling of his fingers running through her tresses. But there is something weighing on her heart and she can't ignore, she can't walk away from this alleyway, from the dead body only a few metres away- a dead body she murdered - and pretend that everything is okay, that she didn't give up the final shred of humanity she had for nothing. She pulls away from his shoulder, raising her head and catching his gaze. He's smiling at her, bright and wonderful and it almost breaks her resolve. But it doesn't. Barry can sense that something is amiss, Caitlin stiffening in his hold, the smile lighting up his face dimming before vanishing completely, wrinkles developing on his forehead as he tries to think about what could possibly make her like this.

"Were you going to hide the money from me?" There is a vulnerability in her tone he hadn't heard before, she had always been so strong and wild and to see her like this, so afraid of his answer, it scares him, it hurts him.

" _No_!" And the denial is so fierce, so swift, she can't help but believe him, relaxing into his hold again, the chilly wind of the night stinging her legs but nothing else, the warmth she is currently cocooned in protecting her from its bite.

"Good," and she knows she sounds drowsy, can feel the pull of sleep on her mind. "But if you ever do a job without me, do not expect me to patch it up when it all goes sour." Caitlin feels the chuckle vibrating through his chest, the last thing she hears before she slips into unconsciousness.

* * *

She wakes up in bed with a smile on her face, his arms wrapped around her, his lips on her neck.

Her laughter quickly turns into a moan.

* * *

He doesn't work off his energy until much, _much_  later that afternoon.


	2. part two.

The first time she kills it is to protect Barry's life.

The next is for a lot less.

* * *

They arrive in the next town, illegal guns in their possession, a gang eager for what they could provide. The deal goes smoothly, the exchange of money and artillery satisfying both parties, enough for Barry and Caitlin to head to a club, drinks and a good time all but assured.

Barry sits at the bar, watching Caitlin dance, once again finding himself admiring her form. She was wearing a short red dress that had his blood rushing south, and she was enjoying the deep bass of the music, arms up and ass swinging in time with the beat, the dress riding up to show hints of what was underneath. He drinks in her and not alcohol, choosing instead to focus on her, on what he would do with the dress when they alone in his room, on what he would do to her.

Caitlin can feel him watching, a salacious smile on her face as she swings her hips just that little bit more, her hands slowly dropping, running themselves down her body, a soft moan leaving her as she imagines him behind her, his erection pressing into her backside, his arms wrapping themselves around her body, pulling her closer, grinding into her ass as his hands slip down her body, creeping up her dress and teasing her in front of everybody. And she doesn't care, not with his fingers moving like that against her skin...

And she can't stand the imagery. She needs him, and she needs him now.

She stops dancing, fire in her eyes as she stalks up to him, her hands on each side of his face as she pulls him to her, sparks flying the moment their lips collide. They pull away minutes later breathless, eyes almost black with desire, lust heating them up, fire in their veins, an uncontrollable need for the other ripping their control into shreds. They both go to leave immediately, Caitlin flushed and excited, almost running out the door, Barry a few steps behind.

But then he accidentally bumps into a man in his haste, the other taking a swing at the man, clipping him in the jaw. The laughter from him and his friends is enough to have Caitlin pausing, turning around to see Barry holding the side of his face, eyes throwing daggers at the man who punched him, hands clenched together to stop him from doing anything. They surround him, mock him, pushing him around, watching with a smile as he does nothing to defend himself. She sees red, infuriated at the audacity of the man, the arrogance to think he could get away with it. Caitlin grabs Barry, storming away from the exit and back into the bar. She pulls him into a bathroom, locking the door before dropping to her knees, determined to make him forget the jerk who had punched him, to forget their derogatory remarks, to make him forget everything but her name.

And when his fingers are threaded in her hair, gently thrusting against her mouth, her name whispered like it was his saving grace she considered it a success.

It doesn't dampen the lust curling within either of them, just makes them more desperate for more, for more skin, more time. He kisses her, the taste of himself on her mouth enough to have him weak in the knees.

"Let's go." She nods in agreement, the bathroom door opening as Barry leads her outside. But she catches a glimpse of him a few metres ahead, the man who had punched her Barry. And the anger returns with a fury. She turns to Barry, asking him to go and get the car before picking her up at the entrance, before pulling him in for kiss that leaves him dazed and unable to resist any of her requests. And as he turns one way she runs the other, determined to catch the brute.

She stalks him, follows him down the dimly lit footpath, calling out to him when she knows that they are alone, that the streets are empty and no one would hear his screams.

"Hey!" The man turns around, a smirk on his face when he hears the feminine voice calling to him.  

He takes a few steps in her direction, Caitlin hiding, the darkness of night like a blanket. He gets closer and closer to her, talking to the woman hidden in the shadows, and the thought of this oaf flirting with her, attempting to seduce her with crude words and empty promises of pleasure is so utterly revolting it takes all her strength to not gag. He is close enough now and so she steps out into the light, her face like stone. He stops mid step. She sees recognition flicker in his eyes; he knows who she was with, knows the anger that is burning in her eyes very well. 

And then he staggers and falls, a blade flung into his chest.

She calmly strolls up to his body, plucking out her dagger from his body, revelling in the gurgle that leaves his mouth in response. Caitlin standing over his body, still twitching, watching the blood drip from the dagger, splattering on his face. She gets distracted by its beauty, the vividness of the colour, the way it paints his skin, and her grin is demented, too wide and too bright for a woman who has killed for the second time.

And it never fades as she watches the life leave his eyes, the last thing he sees a demon on the form of a young woman, leaning over his unmoving body, slapping the side of his face twice before grabbing it roughly, a fire in her eyes, hell's inferno burning within them.

"You shouldn't do that to people, you never know who's watching."

She stays there until she is sure he is dead, a swift kick to head guaranteeing the fact. She stays a little longer, the scent of death filling her nostrils, tangy and dark and utterly delightful, the desire for more curling up within her, pulse fast with the thought.

Then she walks away from him, leaving his soul to go from one hell to another.

* * *

Barry never finds out what happened during the five minutes he left to grab the car.

He does however, remember with clarity the events that happen after. In his bedroom. And hers. And the small kitchen. And the shower the next morning. 

* * *

But most of all he remembers the strength needed to keep three words ringing in his mind and not out loud.

* * *

They take on jobs with increasing danger, nicks and small bruises becoming so much more, the time needed to recover stretching from a few hours to days, if not weeks. But they wouldn't have it any other way. They just needed to be smarter about it.

"We should start keeping blood bags." She is treating another cut on his body- a knife, not a bullet wound, concentrating on ensuring it was done to the best of her ability. It was a cruel twist of fate; Caitlin had always loved medicine, she had dreamt of being a doctor once upon a childhood,  had studied it with a passion. But like all dreams in that god forsaken town it withered and died, the impossibility of escaping strangling every hope and desire that dared to dwell in their hearts.

Oh, she laughs to herself in the dead of night, if only her childhood self could see her now. 

"If we ever need a transfusion, we should have some in stock."

They both hear the silent words- if they were anywhere near death the blood would be necessary, and she clearly believed they were on the brink of it. She stills as he grabs her, his thumb rubbing the inside of her wrist. Her gaze drags up from the side of his stomach to his face, scared of what she would see. But his eyes are so bright, concern pooling in the emerald, her fears now spoken aloud. Caitlin drops her shoulders, unaware that she had been so rigid with tension, emotions written across her face, something that she has become so used to it catches her by surprise. But he is just as much of an open book, determination for it to never happen (it does) and to protect her from the dangers (he tries) all across his face.

But there is more, something akin to adoration, something she can barely define, something she doesn't want to. She feels her breath catch, and she doesn't know why, just knows that it does and that her heart picks up and she can't look away from him, ensnared in his gaze, ensnared by him.

Barry breaks their moment, of course, the urge to confess that he was falling for her creeping up on him, fighting for control. Almost succeeding.

"Aww, do you luv me Caitlin, would seeing me die devastate you?" He hisses as she swipes some alcohol on the stitched up wound, rubbing it in just a little too strongly, a peak of a smile on her lips as he pouts at her.

"Shut up." And he beams to himself; she didn't deny it, and no denial meant he had a sliver of hope.

* * *

They start keeping the blood bags the next day.

* * *

They arrive in Starling City at the first light of dawn, the pair of them entering the first motel they come across, collapsing on the beds the moment they walk into their rented rooms. They sleep the morning and afternoon away; their meeting was not occurring for a few more days, Barry wanting to scope out the area before they would do anything. And while he sleeps peacefully, she cannot find rest, tossing and turning, sleep alluding her for days. He can see the gradual change, her face sullen, darkened circles under her eyes, but every time he could ask her about it, she would become defensive, pulling away from him. 

And so he remains oblivious to the nightmares she is plagued with, faces of her past returning in her dreams, bloodied and dead. She would always jerk awake, her heart racing, sweat glistening on her forehead, veins like ice, fear chilling her on the summer nights.

She ignores the dreams during the day, the meeting with the Bratva Captain one Barry had been anticipating for a long time, hopeful that the other party could provide more contracts and contacts. She can see his excitement and she feigns her own, her smile tight, her eyes dull. She justs wants to leave town, to hit the road. And she knows that after the night she would have the dream granted.

Barry has the guns and other arsenal in the boot of their car, ready for the exchange, and as night falls they set off.

They enter Verdant together, a seedy nightclub the chosen location for the agreement and swap to take place. Caitlin shivers as she stands in line, both her and Barry dressing up to blend in with the rest of the crowd,  less being more something that was appreciated by the clients of the establishment. 

She had seen the look in Barry's eyes before they left as he saw her in the clothes, the hunger as he took in the six inch heels, the dress that started too low and ended too high. His gaze devoured her, swallowed her whole, but it wasn't enough to extinguish the gnawing feeling inside her.

They don't have to be inconspicuous however, the bouncer recognising the names, calling a large African-American to them, words of Russian exchanged as the new man nods, walking off and expecting them to follow. He takes them to a secluded corner, handing them blindfolds, watching them slip it on before leading them further inwards, and down.

Their steps echo in the basement he is leading them to and through, the pair of them bumping into his back as he stops abruptly. He takes them each by their shoulder, shoving them down onto a seat, wrapping rope around their wrists, attaching them to the armrests of the chair, the material digging into their skin, the slightest movement burning. And when he is sure they are secure he walks away, the receding footsteps slow and measured, a stark contrast to the heartbeat of Caitlin.

Seconds pass and they hear nothing.

And for the first time Caitlin is genuinely afraid that they had been brought down there to die.

"Welcome." 

The voice is jarring, certainly not that of the silent man who had lead them down; but they had not heard anyone approach, had not heard anything to indicate they were anything but alone in the basement.

"Hey, I'm assuming you're the man we're here to see. Not that we _can_  see you." Barry's response is infused with good humour, but they all hear the edge in his tone. He doesn't like being left in the dark, not like this. The dark chuckle leaving this stranger she hasn't seen is rich, and it's deadly. 

"I hold a very esteemed position in this town, one I value. As does the Bratva." It's like velvet, like poison, drawing you in only to kill you in the most painful way, eating you up from the inside out. "So I hope you understand why I need to keep my identity a secret before I know I can trust you."

"I get it, don't worry." And she knows Barry, knows that he is just playing along with the man, granting him some time to accept it. She also knows that the longer it drags on the more agitated he will become; trust is a two way street and walking down it blindfolded will only result in getting ran over.

"I trust that you have brought the weapons?" She hears Barry's laughter, tight but genuine, surprise at the query making itself known.

"It's in our car. I trust that you know where it is and that I'm not lying." She hears nothing, nothing but silence, but as she strains her ears there is the faint tapping away at a keyboard, and she knows that they are pulling up surveillance of the parking lot that was specified beforehand, she knows that he must have others working underneath him, ones who are most likely at the lot, checking out the equipment. She jumps as the soft sound of a gunshot rings out, her breath caught as her mind flashes an image of Barry wounded and bleeding all the while she is beside him, completely oblivious. But it's not real, she knows that- it was from the computer, the live feed apparently possessing a microphone. Barry is safe and alive and she needs to calm down. Minutes pass by before an affirmative grunt leaves their captor, footsteps indicating he was walking away from the computer and towards them.

"And how do I know you're not feds?" A scoff leaves Barry before Caitlin could even process the question and the seriousness in his tone.

"Have you _seen_  the files the police have on us?" A grunt of affirmation leaves the man, Barry’s  tone losing the tight control he has always held on it, this crack messing with her nerves. "They would be more likely to stick a bullet in us than you."

"They could have been faked."

"They aren't. They’re legit." A quiet voice rings out, feminine. Soft. They all hear the anger in the captain's tone as he orders his colleague to _leave them alone_. A miffed noise and then silence indicating she didn't agree. Or obey.

The silence stretches on, Barry tapping his feet, getting more and more annoyed as the Captain hesitates.

He doesn't realise just how on edge Caitlin is, how bad it was before she arrived her, how much worse it is now she is blinded and restrained. There is a  weight on her chest, a pressure building up inside her, threatening to explode and rip her into pieces. Her breathing is shallow and quick- a sign she knows looks suspicious, but she can't help it, can't control it anymore than she can control her fate in that moment.

But after all that deliberation he listens to them, listens to the girl who had told him they could be trusted, a noise leaving Barry telling her the blindfold had been ripped off him first. She hears the footsteps halt in front of her, she feels skin brush against her face as it reaches behind her, pulling off the material in one swift motion.

The light is harsh against her eyes, shapes blurry as she struggles to adjust. But then a face forms in front of her, one she hasn't seen in years.

"Ronnie?"

And she faints.

* * *

The action has Barry lunging at the ropes binding him down, the vein on his forehead throbbing, face red in fury as she collapses. He hates that the blindfold was removed but the binds were not, that he could see her collapse and not do a thing to help.

"What the hell did you do to her?" His voice is tight, the rope burning as he struggles against it; he chooses to focus on the anger, the crippling fear of losing Caitlin threatening to overwhelm him, to break him until he could not breathe.

"I did nothing." The man's hands are raised in a sign of surrender to the restrained man, surprise- while fleeting- painted on his face as he takes in her reaction.

"Then why the hell did she call you Ronnie?" A surge of possessive jealousy takes over Barry entirely, the thought of her leaving him for her _Ronnie_  driving him insane, a wholly new type of fear twisting inside him like a knife to the heart. "How do you know her, what did you do?!" He was on the verge of losing everything important to him and he didn't know how to respond other than in a rage.

" _I don't know, okay!_ " The strange man had taken a step closer, his face red, the testosterone rising between them, blows only just stopped from being exchanged because of the ropes holding Barry back.

It's then they notice the blonde, a small girl running to Caitlin, a wet cloth in one hand, a few sheets of paper in the other. She ignores the presence of Barry only a metre away, frowns at the Captain as he growls in annoyance, instead turning her attention to Caitlin, the rag gently placed on her forehead, the sheets of paper a crude fan, blowing cool air towards her, watching her with a worried expression.

Barry watches with rapt attention, the care and attention she treats Caitlin with, small wrinkles forming on her forehead, before a sliver of relief lights up her eyes.

"She'll be okay," the blonde says with a smile, and sure enough Caitlin is coming to. They don't notice the blonde walk away from them to her computer labs, Barry's eyes on Caitlin and her eyes on the Bratva Captain.

"You're not him." And Barry swears he hears disappointment. "I mean, you couldn't have been. But you do look scarily alike." A tense silence surrounds them as the man tries and fails to understand what she was talking about. 

"I have that type of face."

* * *

They leave it at that.

* * *

His name is Oliver Queen they learn, the bond with the Bratva going back in his family for generations. The CEO of Queen Consolidated, he has power and money. And while he has the power to acquire artillery from his company there is too much public scrutiny on his life, on the financial records of the company, on their inventions and stock. As Oliver Queen he trusts few people, as a Bratva Captain he trusts even less. And so he must rely on illegal means for supplying his men with the firepower they need to take down the Triad.

And oh how he wants them dead.

He doesn't explain and they don't ask; they both see the a man haunted by death, a millionaire who has nothing but a few friends.

His colleagues report back; all the arsenal is genuine- from the rifles to the explosives, it is wonderful quality, and Barry swears he sees Oliver crack a smile at the knowledge.

He pays them double for the trouble they had gone through, an awkward handshake as they promise to do business soon. Caitlin sees Barry throw furtive glances her away as she whispers goodbye to the man that looks so much like her ex-lover, her head high, cheeks still burning with embarrassment.

As they are escorted out Caitlin stops, turning back to speak words of gratitude to the blonde for the care. She nods back in response, something passing between them, an understanding that neither man understands. But they do know there would be no betrayal between their parties.

* * *

"You mentioned him again," it is a drowsy whisper from Barry, his arms curling around her waist, a dopey smile on his face as he buries his head in her hair, breathing her in, breathing _them_  in, the scent of sweat and sex lingering on her skin, and it is divine. "Ronnie. Who was he?" He can hear his own insecurity, the man finally finding a word to describe these feelings he would have when near her: love.

"He was my fiance." There is a tightness in her tone she doesn't want him to notice, her mood taking a quick turn as she is reminded of her love of old. "Why Barry, are you jealous?" She hears the sleepiness in her voice, the teasing tone hopefully doing enough to hide the tension. She wants to run, run to her own room that she hasn't slept in, run and lick her wounds, to build stronger defences around her heart. 

"Maybe." They both hear the silent yes.

"Well you shouldn't be," she tries to curl in on herself. She can't, Barry holding her against him; she can't leave him, they were too entwined to ever separate. There are tears prickling at the corner of her eyes, and she hates them, hates everything with a passion. It has been years since she last saw him and he still made her weak, he still was able to break her. And above all she hated him because of that. She lets them fall, she can't wipe them away, not with Barry beside her, Barry who would know instinctively just what she was doing., Barry who would awaken immediately, who would cradle her face in his palms, who would wipe away the tears himself, concern overwhelming him as he asks what is wrong. And she can't handle that, not the intimacy or the intensity. And not the knowledge she would break down in his arms, would curl herself up in his embrace and hide from the pain, the very thought of it alleviating some of the pressure in her chest.

"There is nothing to be jealous about. He's dead."

* * *

None of them sleep that night.

* * *

They aren't sure when it progresses to simply wearing off the adrenaline into something more intimate, can't pinpoint the moment they decided that they wouldn't slink off into their own room after sex, the time they decided that it would be easier if they simply shared a room, sex or not. 

They only realise when they are half way through, whispers in the night far more intimate and vulnerable than sex would ever be, tales of their childhood, of their fears and broken dreams exchanged between them.

Barry embraces it. Caitlin refuses to acknowledge it.

* * *

They make acquaintances.

Barry has his own group of people he used to work with before they had become a pair, and he loves meeting up with them, a drink or a mission enough to boost his spirits.

Cisco Ramon, designer and mechanical prodigy, finding a life of crime easier and more beneficial than lecturing or wasting his talents at a laboratory, bound by red tape and ethics.

Iris West, top journalist and wonderful source of blackmail material, politicians forced to look the other way when she uncovers something they had wished to remain hidden.

Eddie Thawne, Iris' fiance, a crooked cop who could always be trusted upon for evidence disappearing, witnesses dying.

They had formed an odd group, but they worked. Caitlin had felt on the outside, pointless in comparison. She preferred the alliance with Oliver, sporadic calls with the blonde girl, Felicity, not enough- the meetings, the drinking, the partying worth so much more to her. But the others were important, they could do so much. And they were Barry's friends. But she wasn't theirs.

It wasn't until Eddie had been shot in an escape attempt, Iris screaming in fear, that Caitlin was able to prove her worth to the others, Barry watching on with a proud smile on his face as she leaned over, treating the detective with the most meagre of supplies, removing the bullet and stitching the wound without the need for a hospital.

There is a shift after that, a gratefulness she never expected, friendships sparking between them- Eddie swearing to repay her for saving his life, Iris accepting of her, the pair of them heading off to shop together, dressing to kill. And with Cisco, it was with him Caitlin found her brother, the excitable ball of energy and joy drawing her in with his smiles and conversations, teaching her, opening up to her. He tells her of Laurel (corrupt lawyer by day, hired hitman by night and an absolute bombshell of a blonde) and of Lisa (criminal by day, criminal by night and a wildcat between the sheets), of the intoxication of danger, the allure of their fierce strength. Of how he can't choose between the one who has lived in crime all her life, the darkness tattooed into her skin since birth, or the one who turned to a life of crime when she saw where a life of justice left you: dead or crawled up into a bottle. She tells him or her fears, her inexperience with many of the technology they face, of how she doesn't feel like the darkness is a part of her, but it is _all_  of her.

(It does work out. He doesn't have to choose after all.)

(He teaches her. She learns fast. She embraces the darkness.)

But as much as the others were a wonder to be around, Barry and Caitlin would always pull away after a few weeks, taking a job by themselves, the two loners only ever feeling completely comfortable in and with each other.

* * *

"What's wrong?" 

It starts so innocently, Caitlin laying limply beside him, the buzz of her climax dimming as old memories of a life she has almost forgotten come back. Barry notices, he always notices, the slightest shift in her mood, the smallest tell giving her away.

"It's nothing." She tries to smile it away, unable to hold it as Barry's eyes search her own, his hand still absentmindedly stroking circles on the bare skin of her hip, the soothing motion bringing tears to her eyes. 

"It's not nothing Cait, you're biting your bottom lip, you only do that when you're upset." His voice is soft, coaxing her from behind the walls she had built up, drawing her out and into his awaiting arms.

"It's just that Ronnie used to do that." Barry doesn't stiffen at the mention of the man's name, the ex-fiance, the _dead_  ex fiance.

"Do what?"

"Stroke my hip afterwards, he would always use it as an excuse to stay a little longer, claimed that it would help prolong my orgasm." He hears the bittersweet laughter in her tone, the ridiculousness of the idea so special to her, too precious for words.

"Do you want me to stop?" She shakes her head, eyes shining with unshed tears. And under the light of moon, she had never looked so beautiful. His next words surprise even him. "Tell me about Ronnie."

"He was the most beautiful man there was, he loved to work with hands, the things he could create with them..." A wet chuckle leaves her as she recalls moments she had suppressed for so long, the flood of emotions washing over her, threatening to make her a victim of their ferocity. "We hated each other when we first met, always fighting. Gosh, I wouldn't react to anything, but him- it would take the smallest thing to set me off." She sniffles then, barely flinching as he raises his hand to wipe away the tear that was rolling across her face. She doesn't notice him move. "The people at school would describe us like fire and ice, and we were explosive, the golden boy who was everyone's best friend and the ice queen who didn't have emotions - all we needed to do was be near each other and there was fireworks." Caitlin sighs and it breaks his heart, the innocence held in that one noise, the loss and ache encapsulated in that one moment like an axe to walls of his heart. "That was how we ended up together, we're arguing and then all of a sudden he grabs my face and is kissing me and I'm kissing back." She can feel the tears streaming across her face, but she doesn't have the strength to wipe them away, she can't do anything but blubber on, the words like a tidal wave, a force of nature she had no chance of stopping. "He was such a hot head, always getting into fights to protect his friends, to protect me." Barry's hand clenches at the surprise, the shock in her voice that someone would be willing to do that for her. He hates this, hates seeing her so raw and heartbroken, the wounds of his loss never healing properly, the scar remaining so sensitive years later. "He'd come to my apartment each night, a new bruise or cut that needs stitches." She closes her eyes, voice thick with emotion, with hatred. "His father was the worst."

And she's not there with Barry anymore, she's suddenly a young twenty year old in her cramped apartment room, waiting for her fiance to slip through her open window, her bags packed, their elopement a few minutes away.

"He was so hard on him, so brutal I could kill him, I could kill him with my bare hands and I would do it in an instant." There is such hatred in her voice, in her expression, it takes him by surprise. There is a small part of him that notices how she seems to enflame with her words, a small part of him aroused by the sight, of the beauty in her madness. But the larger part of him wants to kiss the pain away. Caitlin is too immersed in her anger to see him clearly, to see anything clearly but the memory playing out before her. "The bastard killed him, he killed his own son." Because the twenty year old is only greeted with the bloodied face of her fiance, the man staggering into her room, collapsing on her bed, her name the last thing on her lips. "The blood was everywhere. I couldn't save him." Her eyes are vacant, they are glassy and wide and Barry can feel his heart ache at the sight of her like this, watching her relive her worst nightmare, unable to protect her from the demons of her past. "I tried, I swear. But there was so much blood, it was everywhere. I- I couldn't save him, I tried, I tried, why couldn't I save him? I should have been able to save him, _I should have been able to save him!_ " And she's hyperventilating, red covering her vision, covering her memories. All she can see is the blood, the blood on her hands as she tries to stop the bleeding, the blood soaking into her bed, in her clothes, tattooing itself on her skin, unable to be washed off, unable to be removed. She sees the blood pouring from the cuts on his face, from his body, the shards of broken glass still lodged in his skin, the stench of alcohol hanging off him. She knows what happened, knows he was caught trying to run away, knows that his drunkard father saw him in the act, knows he was attacked, more brutally than before.

Knows it was her fault; she pressured him into running away from the stale town.

Knows she is responsible for his death.

_"I had to see you one last time, I'm not going to make it. I love you Cait_."

The words are spoken aloud, no longer ringing in her mind but now in her ears, the trembling hand reaching up, cupping her face in his hands, smearing his blood across it before it drops limply down, the man's heart stopping.

"Hey," and suddenly Barry's hand is on her cheek, caressing it, drawing her back into reality, into his bed and his arms. "It's not your fault."

She doesn't question how he knows her deepest fears without her saying a word, she simply accepts that he does. She accepts that he knows her so well, that he is able to calm her down with a touch and word, that much like Ronnie all those years ago, she couldn't envision a future without him by her side. She accepts it all so easily.

It scares her.

And she can't breathe, it's too much, it's all too much.

He can see the change in her face, the horror washing over her, the fear. And something grips his heart.

She sits up, her legs swinging over the side of the bed, her chest heaving and she doesn't know why. She can hear the bed creak as he follows suit, she can feel him sit behind her, his legs sliding on each side of her, the heat of his body burning her up.

And she can no longer live in denial of her feelings, of _his_  feelings for her. She can no longer deny that he looks at her with emotions she never dreamt would be directed towards her again, she can no longer deny that he cared for her more than she could comprehend, that he opened himself up to her in a way he would never do to another, _could_ never do to another. They had been together for years, thieving and killing, and she only then accepts that maybe she had stolen something of his she never intended.

"You feel something for me." She talks slowly, the words strange on her tongue. It isn't a question and they both know it. He chuckles at her words, pulling her against him, her bare back on his chest, his face nuzzling the exposed skin at the crook of her neck, breathing her in. "You _love_  me." Her voice is wooden, and they both know it's not what she wants to hear.

He doesn't deny it.

"Come back to bed," is what comes out instead, her body following his guidance as he tugs her back down, his larger body spooning her.

* * *

He falls asleep.

She can't.

* * *

When she does it's not Ronnie she's cradling in her arms, it's not Ronnie's face that is bloodied up, not his body she's crying over.

It's Barry.

* * *

They stop sharing rooms, they stop sleeping together, they stop everything.

And it wreaks them both.

* * *

It's only two jobs later that a bullet ricocheting on a wall and piercing the flash of his side. It's the closest he had gone to dying, Barry flirting with unconsciousness as Caitlin's shaky hands sew the wound closed, a crude IV attached to Barry as he regains his strength and blood lost.

When he is strong enough, mind and body itching to move again, she throws herself at him. She exhausts him until he can barely move, the both of them so antsy, full of adrenaline and fear and relief. It's in the dark hours of the night, she breaks down, the sex no longer fierce and primal, there is a slow sort of desperation, each action holding so much feeling. 

And as he moves in her,  he can feel her lips on the bullet wound, can feel the tears drop from her face and onto his skin. He can feel each whisper leaving her mouth.

_I love you. I love you. I love you._

It drives him crazy, the intensity of the actions, of his emotions as he hears the words, feels them reverberate through his the very fibre of his being. He pushes slowly but deliberately, prolonging their moment together, the desire for this to never end, for them to remain suspended in time at this one moment flooding him. 

And as the orgasm builds up inside both of them, pushing them higher than before, pleasure and agony wrapped into one moment, the strength of their emotions building up in their chest, so strong they feel like they would explode from the pressure. Breathy moans and whimpers leave them, grunts from Barry as they they cling to each other, unable to let go, messy kisses wherever they can reach, searching for the other’s mouth, a warmth filling them when they find it.

It would be different from all the other times, she knows, these feelings strange and yet familiar, from a world she had only glimpsed in a dream. And she's almost there, almost...

They come together, a piercing cry ripped from her lungs as she falls off the edge and into his awaiting arms.

Caitlin collapses on him, physically and emotionally spent, the fear of him dying without her now replaced with another kind. But she ignores it, choosing to let this night be about them and their love, a blissful peace washing over her as she rests her chin on his torso, gaze soft as she takes him in. He smiles back at her, his hands running themselves through her hair, cradling the side of her face. She presses a kiss over his left pectoral, slightly off centre. And she feels his heartbeat underneath her lips hammering away, eyes aflame as he sees her. She playfully licks his chest, a salty taste in her mouth as she swallows his sweat, a laugh leaving her as he growls at her, sweeping her underneath his body, resting his entire body weight on her. It's nice, she decides, this feeling she has left herself bask in after all this time, she feels safe and protected and _loved_.

But soon they go to sleep, Barry rolling off her to tug her against him, curling around her, needing her to be close to him.

And she feels it, his face nuzzling itself in her hair, breathing her in. And she hears it, the words she longed for since the moment she saw him fall to the floor, a bullet in his body.

"I love you too."

* * *

They are young and free and wild.

And they are in love.

They burn and they burn bright, consuming everything in their way, including each other. 

Neither of them liked sharing anything, not with anybody, least of all sharing the other person.

And it is their downfall.

* * *

They still go to bars to celebrate, and after another robbery that was exactly where they head, choosing to have it at the location of their next job instead of lingering around Florida.

Caitlin still tries to convince Barry to join her on the dance floor, but he never agreed, always choosing to sit by the bar and watch her.

So she uses another tactic.

There is a cute blond watching her move, she sees with a smile stretching across her face. Six foot and toned she chooses him as her prey, her dancing stopping so she could approach him. She knows what she is doing, her fingers dancing up his chest before her arms loop around his neck. The man grins at her, his hands on her waist as they sway to the beat. She looks at him through her lashes, smiling coquettishly as he holds her close and tight, their movements in sync. She can feel Barry's gaze drilling into them, watching their every move. So she gives him something to watch. Caitlin leans up, her lips brushing the blond's ears, encouraging him to be brave, a soft moan leaving her as he does so, his hands wandering down the curve of her backside, grinding her against him.

And suddenly Barry is pulling her from the mystery man; a single punch to the man's chest has him doubling over, an elbow to the back of his skull has him on the floor unconscious.

Caitlin slaps him as his hands band themselves around her bicep, dragging her from the joint and shoving her into the car. She can see his frame wrought with tension, unbridled fury radiating off him. And she realises just how big of a mistake she had made.

* * *

The night ends with Caitlin bent over the kitchen table, Barry thrusting into her, demanding to know just who she belongs to, a vindictive smile on his face as she screams his name until her throat was sore.

The mystery man ends up dead.

* * *

That young man was the son of the mayor of Central City.

* * *

Joe West was a good man, an honest man. 

And he loved his daughter with his heart and soul. 

And so, watching from the sidelines, unable to stop her spiral down into crime and corruption, it was destroying him, tearing him apart.

But he snaps when it came to the murder of Bryce, the mayor's son. He had gone to school with Iris, he had dated Iris, he was her friend, the one person outside her circle of criminals she deemed untouchable.

And he was dead. Because of those two.

Joe spends his life finding criminals, arresting them, but what they had done to his daughter eclipsed all the crimes he had willfully ignored. He researches them, Caitlin declared missing by her family, a string of murders and robberies to prove that she was anything but. And Barry Allen, murder in his DNA, unable to stay in a foster home for longer than a few weeks, his first arrest at eleven, first felony at sixteen, first murder before his twenty first birthday. 

They were ruthless, they were ambitious, they were successful. 

And they must be stopped. 

Joe knows what his had to do, he spends days planning it all out, his grim determination to see this end enough to steel his spirit. 

He lies to Iris, an emergency of his own imagination enough to have Barry and Caitlin driving over on her behalf.

They were sitting ducks when they pull up to the abandoned lot, a panicked Iris ringing them, telling them that her father had been working on a lead when his car had given up its life, leaving him trapped in enemy territory. They rush to his car, the eerie stillness causing chills to run down their spine, goosebumps erupting across their skin. But the car is empty.

A moment passes between them, silence as they deliberate how they would break it to Iris, worrying about her response when she would call a phone that would never be answered. They hear footsteps, their bodies only relaxing when they see Joe.

But then they see his friends.

The lovely men who have guns pointed directly at them.

They stop, eyes widening as they realise the truth, that they were set up. It's instinctual to go for the gun by their side, pulling it on the detective. They are outgunned, or numbered and they knew there was one only one way this could possibly end, corruption prime on both sides of the law.

They would never be given a fair trial.

They would never be arrested.

They go out guns blazing.

Caitlin is able to hit three policemen, only a sliver of joy at seeing their shirts stain with their blood before she feels it. Time seems to slow, a stabbing pain in her side before another in her chest. Her hands touch the pain, red soaking them as she pulls away, shock and then a numbness, falling to the floor, barely a scream leaving her as she feels the life starting to drain away.

She can't hear Barry screaming, tears blurring his eyes as he continues to shoot the coppers down. He was always so fast, so incredibly fast. But he knows she is dying. And there is nothing he can do.

He was always so late, so incredibly late.

Caitlin feels to the pull, a warmth enveloping her, the tug towards the darkness, no bright light to guide her into death. Nothing but black. She smiles softly as her vision starts to fail her, his frame the last thing she sees before succumbing to its call.

She is dead.

She is dead when Barry cries in frustration, in anger, a feeling he could never hope of describing, a feeling he would never want to feel again, overtaking him. His shots become reckless, the cops falling. But his luck would never last so long.

She is dead as he edges towards her body, unsure whether he should hope. 

Unsure if he could handle the answer.

She is dead as he is finally shot, once in the shoulder, another straight through his head, grey matter splattering around him, the body collapsing near her own.

The few policemen that are left hesitate, unbelieving that this could have possibly worked, that these two criminals and murders are finally dead. Finally.

One brave man gets up and walks to the bodies, kicking each one before feeling for their pulse. 

There is none.

It is only at that moment Joe surveys the damage, eight men fallen for the cause. The grounds look like a battlefield, blood and bullets, a haunted look in the men's eyes as they nod solemnly to each other, in congratulations, unable to speak, not with their fallen comrades lying only a few feet away. But they cling to hope, that they are unconscious and not dead.

(Their hope is dashed in a few minutes)

And surrounded in a sea of bodies Joe pulls out his communicator, a well rehearsed lie on his tongue for Captain Singh, watching on in tears as his fellow officers rush to their colleagues, fingers at their neck, on the inside of their palms, on their chest, praying for a beat, for any sign of life. They wouldn't get one.

Wails fill the air, screams of frustration ( _Rogers was going to be a father in a month, damn it)_  and cries of anguish ( _Eliese, no. God no, please. We're supposed to get married, I bought you a ring_ ). There was mourning of lives, the smell of death filling their lungs, clinging to their skin, seeping into their bones. They would never recover from witnessing the deaths, it would weigh upon their hearts, fill their soul with grief. None of which was for the two that were unsuspecting victims of the ambush.

_I heard a disturbance. Called for backup. It was an ambush._

And then the bittersweet words, one's that he knew would destroy Iris and Eddie, would strain their relationship, that may wind up with him dead, but were still so beautiful to his ears even with that knowledge.

_ Don't worry sir, we won. _

_ They're dead. _

**Author's Note:**

> based on [this](http://canarysatom.tumblr.com/post/133674284594/snowbarry-modernbonnie-clyde-au-when-barry) post by [this lovely lady](http://canarysatom.tumblr.com)
> 
> also, [my tumblr](http://frostyregal.tumblr.com)


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